The .22 Caliber Homicides: Book 1 of the San Diego Police Homicide Detail featuring Jack Leslie

by William Barrons

  A curious crowd had gathered beyond the yellow tape which kept any but authorities from getting close enough to taint the crime scene.

  Lieutenant Dean was still there and Leslie explained what he had done about sending the dog to re-try tracing McCoy’s movements.

  “Hey Jack, that’s a helluva good idea. Chances aren’t all that good that the pooch can pick up the trail again. Something though, you figuring about that damn asphalt on the street being so goddamned smelly in this heat. I’d never have thought of that in forty years. The air’s still so damn hot the dead guy was beginning to turn black on us already.”

  “Lieutenant, it may just be a shot in the dark but we’ll soon find out. Sergeant Jackson woke me at 6 o’clock this morning to fill me in on what he found here. Want me to tell you what he figured happened?”

  Dean did want to know so Leslie repeated what Jackson had told him.

  “Well now, it seems your old pal Bob Jackson is a pretty sharp thinker. Maybe he ought to go into detective work.”

  “I’ve suggested that to him a few times but he says he likes the streets. More action, he says,” Leslie told the Lieutenant.

  “Yeah, such great action as cuffing a stupid drunk that can’t find even find his own neighborhood, let alone his goddamned house. Oh well, we need sharp Supervisors like him on patrols, too.”

  “You must be having a time with the reporters in all the media because of these killings, Lieutenant,” Leslie said.

  “Jesus Christ, yes! They seem to count the number of cops we’ve got in the city and ask how many can it take to bring in a crazy murderer? Nothing to it, you know; just bring the bastard in and lock him up. Only one little problem is, finding the sonofabitch.”

  “We’ll get him sooner or later and I fondly hope it’s the former,” Jack Leslie said.

  “Yes dammit and my friend, I hope you keep that doggoned stuff a-whirling under that curly black hair of yours. Did anybody ever tell you?….Jack, my wife and I were watching an old movie last night, about bull fighting in Spain and Carol says to me, ‘By golly, that’s Jack Leslie there, fighting that bull.’ And I had to agree, you look almost exactly like that famous actor Tyrone Power.”

  “Lieutenant, I’ve seen that movie two or three times and I look about as much like Tyrone Power as you look like Ava Gardner. Anyway, enough of your insults. I’m going over to Balboa Park there to see if the officer and his dog are there yet. If not, I’ll wait awhile. Do I understand there’s a Patrol car parked where the Freestyle was found last night?”

  “Yes, I told one to stand by there for the day. It’s a crime scene as well as this one is and the CSI guys will be over there by and by to look the area over.”

  Leslie drove over to the park, finding the Patrol car parked off the pavement a little. Just then another Patrol car pulled up with the Officer-handler and his floppy-eared tracking dog. Even the skin under the dog’s eyes and on his jaws drooped.

  “Sergeant Leslie, I took him out to the impound lot and he sniffed real good for the scent,” the dog-handler said. “I’ll soon see what he can sniff out. We’ll start right here where the Freestyle was parked last night.”

  “Where’d you get that name ‘Ziggy’ for your dog?”

  “’Cause he zigs this way and then zigs that way over the ground with his snout when he’s searching,” the canine Officer said.

  Leslie watched as the hound’s ultra-sensitive scent-detecting nerve-ends instinctively searched among the thousands of microscopic particles passing over his nose, for just those tiniest possible particles of skin cells falling off the body of a single human being, Donald McCoy. Such hounds were said to have noses hundreds of thousands – or maybe even millions - of times more sensitive than human’s sniffers.

  The dog pulled his handler along at the edge of the pavement and then stopped – as Jackson had reported – about fifty yards away. But the police officer holding the leash urged the dog to follow alongside the pavement further on. He first went along the right side of the street for quite some distance and then returned to urge the miraculous walking nose along the left side.

  Leslie followed behind them the entire time and saw the dog was eager to please his master and was extremely zealous in his search for the one scent on the ground among unknown other thousands of smells.

  It didn’t look good. The hound kept his nose sweeping the ground. The handler allowed him to turn as far as he wished but kept him on the leash as the dog pulled him along.

  After moving along on the left of the pavement for about a further fifty yards, the hound let out an excited baying sound.

  “Sergeant Leslie! Ziggy’s picked up the scent again!” the handler shouted.

  The dog darted off to the left, pulling his master with the leash. He headed into the bushes. The bushes! There, no more than forty feet from the pavement, Leslie stared in amazement at what appeared to be a much-used nest. The grass was much trampled by one or two men at a time. It was well hidden from the street which was just steps away.

  “Pull Ziggy off, please. I see shell casings there which the CSI guys will need to pick up,” Leslie said. “Now, see if your bloodhound buddy can lead you to where that fellow went next, after he had rested awhile. I’ll stay right here while you continue tracking and until the CSI people show up.”

  He scrolled to Lieutenant Dean on his Blackberry. “Sir, the dog picked up the scent again and found where McCoy apparently rested awhile, in the bushes. The Officer has his bloodhound chasing the scent further; he’s going across the green grass lawn right now, heading for Sixth Avenue. There’re .22 caliber shell casings here for CSI to pick up. I see five casings and a handkerchief which has a little blood on it. Please send one of those guys over with a camera. I’ll wait right here for a while.”

  As Leslie waited, he watched after the officer and his hound. They were heading south on Sixth, the dog with his nose to the concrete of the sidewalk. There would be no overwhelming tar smell on the concrete, Leslie figured. Then they were out of sight, going down the hill.

  After perhaps fifteen minutes, Leslie’s Blackberry rang, giving him a start. It was the dog-handler.

  “Guess what, Sergeant Leslie? Ziggy found the trail led down Sixth to ah, to Hawthorne Street. There’s an empty space at the curb and a young lady sitting there, crying that her car is missing. I just now called dispatch to report it. It’s sorta old, a green 1996 Volvo station wagon. And that sir, means your suspect McCoy has stolen the young lady’s automobile. I’ll be back there pretty quick to see you and then get in my car and vamoose. Okay Sergeant Leslie?”

  “Excellent work! Excellent! Give your Ziggy a great big ham bone for me.”

  By and by CSI people showed up. The man and woman most carefully photographed the scene several times and then with tweezers picked up the handkerchief and the shell casings, putting them in little plastic bags. They also searched for other things such as buttons and hair but found nothing further.

  “Interesting, isn’t it Sergeant?” the CSI man said. “These casings show they’ve been struck with dual firing pins. Pretty good sign they were stripped from that five-shot, super expensive, stainless steel revolver. So the guy has re-loaded and he’s ready to shoot the eyes and teeth out of someone else.”

  “Even more interesting in this case may be that handkerchief,” Leslie told them. “Hopefully, that blood’s from the latest victim of his rage. Maybe his own DNA is on it, too.”

  “Sir, his DNA will be on it if he as much as wiped his nose with it. We’ll soon see.”

  It was lunchtime and Hob Nob Hill was merely blocks away so he headed there. After lunch, curious, he drove by the Washington School south of the restaurant, to see if an older green Volvo might be hanging around. He saw no such automobile. But of course, that car, even in green color, was not awfully uncommon. San Diego seemed flooded with foreign cars. Officers all over San Diego County would have their eyes searching for it.

  He called Veronica. “Thought I�
�d let you know, my dear sweet darling, that McCoy’s apparently stolen an older Volvo and every cop in creation is looking for him in it. I cruised around Washington School and didn’t see the car or him anywhere. But of course, it’s extremely unlikely he’d ever wish for a second to harm the sweetest little girl in the world.”

  “Jack, thanks for your concern for Little Anne. From what I know of Donald McCoy, I’m sure I have nothing to worry about. I’ve got to confess something to you, sweetheart. I’ve been looking over some of the books on your bookcase and I’m reminded that I’d like to write. You know, working the bar at the Cecilia during the day….well, that’s not going to pay much money. Probably less than half what I made at night. I’ve dabbled in writing and I’ve got quite a lot in savings so I thought I’d give my laptop to Little Anne and buy myself an up-to-date good model to write with. I’m a pretty good typist. Learned it in high school. Also, I think I’ve about mastered word processing on computers.”

  “Sweetness and light, if you’d be so kind as to allow it, we can zip out to Costco tonight and I’ll get you the best there is. And if you’d like to do crime stories, it’s just possible I could give you a little background.”

  “Jack, as Humphrey Bogart said to Claude Raines, ‘this could be the beginning’…..”

  “Exactly. You’ll be picking up Little Anne at school and I’d like you to be alert to an older green Volvo wagon. If you should spy one anywhere near where you are or near the school, even if it’s empty, just be awfully cautious. If you see one like that, phone me instantly. Okay, my sweet? I’ll be home about 5:30.”

  Leslie returned to Police Headquarters and the Homicide Detail office. He talked over the latest developments in the McCoy case with Lieutenant Dean and the Homicide Detectives on his Team Three, Charles Fredericks, Kevin Williams and Brian Alan. A fourth Detective, Sonia Tuason, was at the time still on vacation to her birthplace, the Philippines. He was short one Detective on his Team but the need for another at the time was slight.

  “Excuse me fellows, my Blackberry’s tickling my chest again!” he said.

  “Hello Jimmy, it’s always good to hear from such a good friend. What’s up?” he asked and punched “Speaker” so the others could hear.

  “Sergeant Leslie, you ain’t gonna hardly believe this, but I jest seen that Donald McCoy again. Honest to Jesus, he jest drove away from here. I was sittin’ in Denny’s here on Palm jest east of Highway 5 – you know, down here near to the border. You know the place?”

  “Yes Jimmy, I’ve eaten at that Denny’s a couple of times.”

  “Okay. Anyways, I was sittin’ here having some pancakes when I’m a lookin’ out watchin’ two guys in the parking lot. One’s sittin’ in his car and t’other’s standin’ there a talkin’ to ‘im ‘bout somethin’ and a course, I can’t hear nothin’.

  “Wa’ll now sir, I’m maybe a little bit thick in the skull ‘cause it don’t register very fast who it is I’m a lookin’ at. But the one outside the car, he takes a little brown bag from the other man and he jumps in his car and they both drive away. Didn’t see where they went.

  “When they’re gone sir, I suddenly realize, by God in Heaven, that there man who done all the talkin’, and who had a kind of purse hanging from his shoulder like I seen him have before, that was that McCoy, sure’n anythin’. He paid the man somethin’ outa that purse. He drove off in a green Volvo wagon; a real old one, I think. The other guy’s car was a new Toyota, but one of ‘em they call Lexus. Yeah, a pricy silver Lexus.

  “Sergeant, I didn’t think to get no license numbers and a course I couldn’t see what was in that little brown bag but since you seem so all-fired interested in that McCoy, I’d sure guess it warn’t no candy bars in that there little bag.”

  “Jimmy James my friend, you are a wonder. Please don’t hang up, I’ll be right back with you.”

  Leslie punched “Mute” on his phone and told the Lieutenant, “Sir, did you get that; my trusted cabbie contact has just reported seeing McCoy in the stolen Volvo, just minutes ago, at Palm Avenue and I-5?”

  Dean jumped up and disappeared into his office. Leslie got back to James then.

  “Did McCoy have anyone with him in the car?”

  “Didden see nobody.”

  “What was he wearing, please?”

  “Oh, same as always, I’m thinkin’. You know, them blue jeans pants and a….oh, I guess it was a plain white tee shirt but the main things different on that guy is that woman’s purse what he either has on the seat of his cab or a hangin’ off’n his shoulder.”

  “I see. I’ve learned he’s right-handed, Jimmy. Does he carry that bag on his right shoulder or his left?”

  “Oh boy! You got me….oh now, guess come to think on it, I’ve saw it swinging on….wait, on the left one this time I think and t’other side another time.”

  “Jimmy, what eyes you have. You didn’t see how much money McCoy handed over to the other man?”

  “No sir, I didn’t see how much. I can’t think why he’d be drivin’ that old jalopy when I seen him before in that real nice Freestyle. My cousin, he says to me it’s the best car ever Ford or anyone ever they put out. I rode in it myself and it’s a damn nice car an’ I don’t know why pract’ly all you see on the streets anymore is them Japanese an’ Europe cars ‘stead of Fords an’ Chevys an’ sich. I wonder sir, what’s he done with that pretty Freestyle.”

  “It would seem foreigners know more about the power of advertising than Detroit or Dearborn does, Jimmy. That Freestyle you saw McCoy driving belonged to a very nice old lady, Jimmy. He doesn’t have it anymore. We think he stole that old green Volvo so we’re looking for him and you sir, deserve a nice reward. How did you enjoy the chocolates?”

  “You mean to say McCoy’s a car thief? That man’s so infernal nice, it’s hard to believe he’d swat a fly. I don’t understand folks anyhow, who’d steal.

  “Oh, them chocolates. Sir, my wife, she’s the love of my life and all that but she’s Mexican and she’s gave me three nice little boys and is gettin’ fatter all the time. Maybe if you wanna send somethin’, you can send me somethin’ that ain’t so damn fattenin’ as them See’s chocolates.”

  “Jimmy, I’ll do my best to think of something that has few calories. Thanks my friend.”

  “You know somethin’ sir, I ain’t never had no run-ins with cops but I gotta say, you’re one fine Officer of The Law, by God. Someday maybe I’ll get a ticket an’ you can bet, I’ll be pleadin’ my case with you.”

  “Ah, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be advisable since I have no influence whatever in traffic court. But I’ll never forget your valuable help, Jimmy. Oh, and I do want to caution you to never, ever even hint to McCoy if you meet him again, that you’ve been talking to a Police Officer about him. He has an unusually vicious and very dangerous side. Thanks again friend.”

  Leslie punched “End” on his phone and said, “Well now gentlemen, at least we know he hasn’t gone to Mexico just yet. It was an extremely great stroke of luck to meet that cab driver. He’s sure been helpful.”

  The Lieutenant returned. “I’ve got about a dozen squads looking for McCoy and that Volvo near Palm and 5 and who knows? We might get lucky like our lucky-because-he-uses-his-head Jack Leslie here,” he told them. “Now the question of the day is, can our master sleuth think what ought to be done next to bring in that bastard?”

  “Good question, Lieutenant. McCoy has killed in cold blood seven citizens that we know of. I should say, he’s killed with that super expensive .22 caliber revolver seven people so far. He may be going for at least number eight at any time. Just don’t you cross that guy or rather quickly, you’re dead meat.”

  Leslie leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “That McCoy has an awfully touchy chip on his shoulder and I suppose any psychiatrist would have a field day delving into that twisted mind of his. Everyone who has known him even for a short time, comments on what a fine, fine fellow he is.


  “It isn’t all that unusual for a killer to be wonderfully charismatic. It’s a self-defense thing, to assure folks. Just don’t let him think for a second that you’ve betrayed him in some way; that’s when he explodes. He probably even acts kindly toward his victims right to the split second that he’s blasting their eyes out – or in the case of that kindly old Mary Annders, a bullet into the brain through her mouth.”

  “Sergeant,” Detective Brian Alan said, “what in hell was that about chocolates and calories you talked about with that cabbie?”

  “Oh, you should know your friends. Cab drivers have to scratch every day to make a living. Every day’s different from every other. I’ve heard cabbies say they only intended to drive temporarily but they sort of got hooked on the job. They became so addicted to that way of life they didn’t feel they could do anything else. That despite the fact it doesn’t take long to realize you simply cannot make much money driving a taxi.

  “I don’t mean to imply I’m being charitable with Jimmy James. Twice before he’s given me extremely valuable information so the first time I sent him $40 and the second time $40 plus a box of chocolates for his wife. I’ll send him a cool hundred fat-free one-dollar bills this time with a humorous note saying I looked those bills over carefully and couldn’t see a single calorie on them. The Lieutenant here, I expect will approve these cost-of-doing-business expenses so I might be reimbursed.”

  “Yeah, I expect I’ll okay these but I want to tell you boys,” Dean said, “don’t go getting nuts with paying out money. Leslie’s got a long record of integrity so’s we don’t worry a whole lot about him having sticky fingers.”

  Detective Charles Fredericks held up a hand. “I’ve gotta notice you didn’t exactly answer the Lieutenant, Sergeant Leslie, about what to do next about McCoy. Shouldn’t some of us be out there looking for him?”